


Twist of Fate

by waterandsilver



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence - Thor: The Dark World, Execution, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loki Needs a Hug, Odin's A+ Parenting, Thor Needs a Hug, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 08:40:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11528637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterandsilver/pseuds/waterandsilver
Summary: "Frigga is the only reason you're still alive," Odin had said.Dark World AU, in which Loki helps Thor defeat Malekith without any deception, and then willingly returns to Asgard as a prisoner. Only now, the person who prevented his execution is dead, and Odin no longer has any reason to keep him alive.





	Twist of Fate

Loki leans on Thor for the last mile of the journey.

The battle was a bloody one. Thor hasn’t taken such a beating in decades. He couldn’t throw himself into the rhythm of it as he usually would, with Loki dancing beside him. One eye was always on his brother, his mind flashing back to the scenes of carnage and the bloodthirsty smirks on Midgard, every time he slipped from view. It takes an awful lot of effort and too many close scrapes before Malekith and his plans are lying at Thor’s feet in tatters.

On the journey back, Svartalfheim’s terrain seems even more wretched than Thor remembers. His feet don’t trust the ever-shifting ash; the trek back to the portal feels almost as merciless as the battle.

In both, Loki has fared worse than him. He tries his best to steady his breathing and hide the limp in his gait, but when he stumbles to his knees, he doesn’t have the strength to resist the hands that grab him and hold him upright.

“Loki?”

His cutting green eyes, always sharp, always clear, are worryingly unfocused. He glares weakly, trying to push Thor’s hands away. The gesture is so pathetic that Thor almost finds himself hoping Loki actually is holding his strength back, for the sake of an act. He’s always been made of sharp angles, but he wasted away in that cell, Thor realises, too late.

“Loki, this is no time for pride,” Thor says, and Loki’s lips twist in a bitter smile that he does not understand. “We must hasten home. Here, lean on me. You need the attention of Healers.”

Now Loki chuckles, a rasping, mirthless sound. “Ah, yes. I’m sure that _healing_ me will be Odin’s first priority.”

But then he thrusts out his arm, grimacing as if the blow to his pride pains him more than his battle wounds, and the only thought on Thor’s mind is delivering his brother home.

 

***

 

The guards are waiting for them when they reach the outer towns. Three lines of them, straight-backed and fully armored. Thor frowns. Many forces were lost in Malekith’s attack of the citadel. Surely Odin need not spare an entire garrison for his son’s cause? Their quest was dangerous, but Asgard’s princes have emerged from worse unscathed, and Heimdall should have informed the court that they are safe and well.

Or rather, that Thor is. He glances once again at Loki. One slender arm is wound around his back, clinging to Thor’s mail. He’s too pale, his skin pallid where it isn’t smeared with blood. And there’s a _lot_ of blood, Thor can’t help but think. They’ve both suffered the usual minor injuries, but Loki took on the same amount of elves as him, with only a knife to defend himself whereas Thor had Mjolnir. A deep gash runs down his neck, still bleeding, and that limp isn’t reassuring. Thor wonders about the exact nature of the wounds that lurk beneath the leathers. Should he have treated them sooner…?

Loki catches his eye – and there’s something dark and mocking in his gaze, something Thor can’t read, but doesn’t like.

“Prince Thor. It is a relief to see you returned, Your Highness.”

The captain of the garrison steps forward, bows. Thor acknowledges him with a short nod.

"We've been informed that the threat to Asgard has been defeated."

"You are correct," Thor confirms. "Malekith is dead. His plans died with him."

"The realm is in your debt, my prince."

Then the captain turns to Loki.

“Seize the prisoner.”

Loki is ripped from his grasp before Thor can react. Rough hands shove him to his knees, making him grunt in pain. There are manacles closing around his wrists by the time Thor has come to his senses.

“What are you _doing_?!”

He flings one man aside, grabs another by the scruff of his collar.

“My – my prince,” the man gasps. “We received orders—”

“My brother is injured and exhausted,” he growls. “He may no longer be your prince, but you have no right to maltreat a prisoner.”

The captain steps forward, arms open in a gesture of apology. Thor moves a hand to Mjolnir and is satisfied to see the captain hesitate before opening his mouth again.

“My apologies, my prince. We meant no offense. We simply received our orders from the king.”

“And what did your orders say?”

“That we were to take Loki Laufeyson to a holding cell, immediately. Under strict supervision.”

Thor glances at Loki. The hands of the guards still rest upon his shoulders, and not lightly. Despite his efforts to hide his pain, his face is twisted in discomfort.

“And why is that? My brother has a cell of his own, in the palace dungeons.”

Were these guards completely inept?

“Yes, Your Highness. But the Allfather requires him to be held near the throne room. For ease, during the retrial.”

 

***

 

Odin is holding council when Thor bursts through the door. His rumbling, melodic voice cuts out mid-sentence, and a stilted silence falls upon the council room. Every eye turns to Thor, who ignores all except one.

“Father, I need to speak with you at once.”

Something gleams in Odin’s wise old eye.

“It is good to see you returned to us, Prince Thor.” The Allfather casts a hand over the room, where the councilmen are exchanging glances. “As you can see, we are addressing how to move forward in the wake of Malekith’s attack. Your voice is more than welcome in the discussion.”

Thor forces himself to loosen his grip on Mjolnir. _That will not help_ , a sensible voice whispers in his ear, a voice that so closely resembles his mother’s that a pang of pain shoots through him.

Suddenly, it’s as if the events of the last few days have come crashing down upon him all at once. The destruction of Asgard is laid bare for all to see. The ruins of the columns have barely stopped smoking. Thor has been running on adrenaline since he brought Jane here from Midgard, forcing himself to get from one rendezvous to the next, as he would in battle. But now he looks up, takes in how the golden halls of Asgard have been reduced to shattered rubble, and something aches deep inside of him. This isn’t just another battlefield. This is his _home_.

Thor glances at the councilmen, from face to face, all of them war-weary, and straightens his back. His people are in pain, and he needs to work with them.

“I shall join you, Father. And then afterward, we will speak.”

A few years ago, Thor would have thought that the meeting dragged on for far too long. But older and wiser as he is, he appreciates the scope of Odin’s report, even as the discussion begins to scrape on his bones. The extent of the damage is illustrated with a glowing map that Odin produces with twist of his hand, a sprinkling of _seidr_. The palace has suffered the brunt of the attack. Thor realises that they owe much to the unseen spellwork binding Asgard together from the inside out.

Most of the damage is fixable, but not the deepest wound that Asgard was dealt, and Thor knows that they all feel that pain. The voices of the councilmen are all heavy with grief; the empty seat at the end of the table commands an almost stifling presence. The death of the queen is an unspeakable loss.

Once the meeting has convened, Thor lingers, until everyone but the king has filed out of the door. Odin’s back is to Thor. One hand rests lightly upon the arm of his throne, as if it is a thing of fragility. He seems deep in thought.

“Father, I know the day has been long, but I must speak with you.”

Odin sighs, gestures. “Go on, then. Speak.”

“Why did you have Loki taken to a new cell? What is the meaning of this ‘retrial’? I thought his fate was decided when I brought him back from Midgard.”

Odin shakes his head, disappointment practically radiating from him. “After everything, after all this grief… you still think of him? Of that traitor?”

Thor shifts uncomfortably. In truth, he’s spent the last year adjusting to a life without the figure of his brother in the corner of his eye. He spent months having to relearn his technique on the training field, when suddenly, he no longer had a shadow at his back that deflected every other blow.

But he cannot pretend that Loki never existed. For thousands of years, he was one of two brothers. It will be years yet before his mind learns to factor Loki out of every notion and possibility that runs through his head. How can Odin not understand as much?

“I’m merely concerned with the safety of the kingdom,” is the angle that Thor plays, pretending it doesn’t feel like cowardice. “Regardless of what has passed between us, Loki is a powerful presence as long as he remains in Asgard. You cannot shut him away in the dungeons and ignore his existence.”

Odin stands a little taller.

“I am aware of that.”

Some about the way the Allfather utters the words causes a bad feeling to stir in Thor’s gut.

“Father, what did the captain mean when he spoke of a retrial?”

“I thought you would have been able to figure that much out yourself, Prince Thor. Loki’s crimes on Jotunheim and Midgard were more than enough to warrant the death sentence. But the queen could not bear see him as anything but her son, and so I spared him the axe, to spare her any further pain.”

Thor feels as if the ground has been pulled away from underneath his feet. Odin cannot mean…?

“The queen cannot be hurt by his fate any longer. And justice _shall_ be done.”

No. _No._

Thor’s head is spinning. He’s back on the Bifrost once again. The wave of unspeakable horror is surging through him as he watches his brother fall into the darkness. He feels the raw wound that opened up in his chest, hears his own roar of pain echoing in his ears.

How can Odin even be considering this?

“Father,” he manages to say. “You’re not thinking clearly. Please, take some time, reconsider—”

“I will be taking some time,” Odin interrupts him, utterly collected. “Loki’s trial will begin after Asgard is rebuilt and recovered.”

Thor struggles to call up words.

“And you should put your mind to the wellbeing of Asgard yourself, my son.”

Thousands of thoughts are buzzing in Thor’s head like angry hornets. _How can you do this_ , he wants to cry, s _o soon after mother? How can you do this so coldly, to someone you once considered a son?_

But Thor’s tongue does not want to put them into words. And the one thing he is sure of, at this point in time, is that Odin is right about one thing: their kingdom is hurting, and he is Asgard’s prince. He has more to think of than just Loki.

But still, as he walks away, heading to the training fields to see the damage that has been done to the ranks, it is Loki that keeps creeping back into his head. The way that Loki smiled, knowingly, when the garrison greeted them in the towns; the look in his eye that Thor has seen far too often, when his brother has known something that he has not.

 

***

 

Night had long fallen by the time Thor leaves the barracks. He did not intend to stay for so long, but the general was all too eager to unload the details of the damage to their weapons base, and Thor, being the prince, could hardly refuse to listen.

He makes his way to holding cells by moonlight. The guard on the door swoops into a low bow when Thor approaches.

“Your Highness.”

“I’m here to see my brother. Take me to his cell.”

“Your Highness… we’ve been given orders by the Allfather, not to let anyone into Laufeyson’s cell.”

Frustration builds in Thor.

“If you won’t take me to him, then step aside. I’ll find him myself.”

The guard is still noticeably hesitant.

“Need I remind you that I am your prince?” Thor snaps. “Your future king? I will _not_ leave until I’ve seen Loki.”

The captain finally concedes, with another hasty bow.

“Of course, my prince. Forgive my hesitation, I’ll take you right to him. This way.”

The holding cells are barer than the dungeon in which Loki previously resided. Barer and grimier. Thor doesn’t doubt that a thousand spells will be lacing the bars to prevent escape, but he cannot help but think how very small the cells look, how they are so obviously not places where people can be permanently housed.

Thor glances into the shadows as they pass, but each and every cell is empty, except for the glowing eyes of rats that scuttle in the dark. Finally, when they reach the furthest cell, the captain pulls the keys from his belt, unlocks the door, and Thor steps into the gloom.

Loki is lying down when Thor enters. The only light in the room is a dim lamp that casts a hazy amber glow upon the walls, making Thor strain his eyes.

“Loki.”

Loki _was_ lying down, but he’s upright as soon as he notices his brother. Yet Thor knows Loki too well for this to be a reassurance; Loki usually would have sensed his presence far before now.

Thor cannot see properly, in this blasted half-light. He can only make out several dark stains upon Loki’s shirt. His battle armour has been taken from him, as have his leathers, leaving him with only the barest minimum of clothing. Still, there is something so recognisably _Loki_ about the set of his shoulders, the cautious way he moves under Thor’s eye, that a knot of worry Thor hadn’t realised he’d been harboring unwinds.

“Thor,” Loki greets, in an impassive voice.

“I’m sorry it took so long to get here,” says Thor. “I’ve spoken with Father. You’re to have a retrial, after Asgard has recovered from the attack.”

Loki isn’t impressed. “I’d gathered that much myself.”

Thor bites his lip, expecting Loki to ask _why_ he’s being tried again, as Thor had. But, strangely, he doesn’t question it, and Thor isn’t going to complain about not having to spell that out.

“Have your wounds been treated, brother?” he asks instead.

Loki gives him a scathing look, leaning back against the cell wall. “Would you heal a pig, before sending it off to slaughter?”

Thor blinks, taken aback by the acid in his voice. Even for Loki, his words are startlingly cynical.

“Don’t compare yourself to such things,” Thor berates him.

“Why not? Odin plans to have me killed, does he not?”

Thor stops in his tracks. There isn’t a hint of fear about Loki, nor surprise, only surly bitterness.

“Father is in grief,” Thor says slowly. “He feels the loss of our mother so strongly… I think he’s looking for a way of taking back control, by punishing you.”

Thor barely realised he harbored such suspicious until they are coming out of his mouth. Loki, too, seems surprised at his perceptiveness.

“Hmm,” he muses. “I suppose he was never going to take Frigga’s death well.”

Thor feels his heart tighten. Loki speaks of their mother’s death as if it were inevitable… which it was, Thor supposes, as every death is. Still, is that how Loki sees each life? As heading towards a final end? Thor hardly ever thinks of anyone dying, not even himself.

And it’s not as if Loki took the news of their mother’s death calmly himself. Thor had expected carnage, and Loki had not disappointed. He’d known in a heartbeat that the calm, collected illusion of Loki in the cell was a facade. Just about everything in that cell had been torn apart.

“He always has taken his anger out on those around him,” Loki muses. “And what a quality for a king to have.”

Unease stirs once again within Thor.

“Let’s not jump ahead of ourselves,” he says. “We have time yet before your retrial.”

He waits for his brother to speak. This is the point at which he pitches in with advice, beginning with a slight on Thor’s intelligence, that Thor will accept as the price of Loki’s wisdom, and then quickly unfolding into a plan of action.

But Loki doesn’t speak up; he doesn’t offer advice. He simply watches Thor from the darkness, offering nothing, neither encouragement nor cynicism, and Thor doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“How bad are your injuries?” he asks instead.

“Insignificant.”

Thor frowns. He couldn’t even walk for the last part of the journey.

“Loki—”

“They do not _matter_. By the stars, is that all you came here to do? Fret over a few scratches?”

“What would you have me do, then?” Thor asks, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice, but Loki doesn’t rise to it. He doesn’t even move, only surveying Thor, before sinking heavily onto the bunk and coursing a hand through his tangled hair.

The action shocks Thor almost more than anything else about this situation. He’s seen Loki literally collapse before admitting that he was weary. He’s seen him take whippings rather than forfeit his pride.

Something is very wrong here.

“ _You_ came to see _me_ , Thor,” he says eventually, his voice heavy. “I cannot tell you what to do.”

Thor blinks, at a loss. He’s right, technically, but this is so _unLoki-ish_ of him that Thor is thrown. _Bombard me with insults_ , he thinks. _Degrade me. Hit me. Goad me into hitting you._ Those, he knows how to deal with.

“It’s getting late,” he concedes eventually, with a bitter taste of failure in his mouth. “I’ll be back.”

“If you wish.”

Thor stops at the door. _I won’t let them kill you,_ he wants to say, but can’t, because that will mean acknowledging that Loki’s head is already on the chopping block, and Thor isn’t ready to do that just yet. Odin is grieving. In the weeks to come, he’ll recant his decision.

Thor has always believed in his father, as the wisest king that Asgard could ever have. That faith has not been shaken just yet.

 

***

 

As the process of recovery begins, Thor finds himself more involved in the day to day running of Asgard than ever before. Twice, over the next month, he passes over the chance to travel to other realms. The promise of adventure is as tempting as ever, especially with the Warriors Three plying him with ale and memories of their past escapades, to try and bribe him into joining them. They understand, however, when he says that he has to remain here for now. He thinks he even sees a glint of pride in Sif’s eyes, that she quickly covers by landing him a heavy punch in the shoulder and calling him a chicken of a prince.

Jane understands too, although she takes the news more tearfully. Thor is aware, at the back of his mind, that she has already waited two long years for him; another few and the connection between them might fade. But the one thing he’s certain of, at the very moment, is that he needs to be in Asgard right now. And sure enough, with Thor supervising the rebuilding, the training of new troops, and the strengthening of their defences, within a short amount of time, Malekith’s attack is already fading into a memory.

The realm recovers in all ways except one. Frigga’s absence tugs on Thor’s heartstrings in his every waking moment. He only tries to enter her quarters once. As soon as he sees the spot where she fell, he crashes to his knees, to the horror of both the servants and himself, but he cannot help himself. It’s as if a shadow has fallen over the kingdom, an omnipresent cloud, that dampens everyone and everything. There are no celebrations when the restoration of the palace is completed, no feasting and merriment, only a sombre speech given by Odin, and a vigil held in the queen’s memory. Thor cannot imagine the grief lifting soon.

It’s some time before he finds himself heading down to the holding cells again. It’s not that it slips Thor’s mind; far from it, Loki plays on his mind almost as much as Frigga. But Loki has always been a complicated creature, and Thor always used to turn to the sage wisdom of his mother when Loki’s emotional extremes were making him feel out of his depth. It’s not until he hears his brother’s name mentioned by a guard passing in a corridor that guilt strikes him, and he realises that Loki will think he has broken his promise to return.

When he finds himself going down to the holding cells again, it’s by daylight. But this time, getting to Loki’s cell is even more of an ordeal than before.

“The Allfather gave us very specific orders, Your Highness, not to let anybody into the prisoner’s cell.”

The guard on duty virtually quivers under Thor’s glare. “I am not _anybody_.”

“No, Your Highness, I wasn’t suggesting… I didn’t mean to cause offence…”

“The longer I stand here, the more _offended_ I become that parts of my own palace are being restricted to me.”

The guard looks remarkably pained, but no sooner does he open his mouth, no doubt to make another weak excuse, a messenger sidles up and mutters something in his ear. His expression clears instantly into one of relief.

“The Allfather has sent word that you’re to be allowed to see the prisoner.”

At _last_.

“Let us waste no more time, then,” says Thor, a little snappishly, and the guard jumps to it.

This time, however, Thor notices an addition to the building. A pair of men are lounging in a recreation area near to the cells, playing chess. Something about them makes Thor’s gaze linger.

Noticing his staring, the guard explains.

“In case the prisoner attempts an escape, Your Highness.”

Thor’s stomach lurches. “Has he shown signs of having such ideas?”

“No, Your Highness. Not that we’ve seen. But the Allfather wanted to be sure.”

One of the guards meets Thor’s gaze as he passes, and he is met with dark, unfamiliar eyes that don’t hold the respect Thor is accustomed to. Thor can’t place what it is, but something seems a little… off about the pair of them.

The holding cells are no more pleasant by daylight. The one window that the prisoners are afforded is a mere sliver of light struck high in the wall, and seems to Thor to be more of a cruel reminder of the baseness of their position than a window.

When he sees Loki, Thor is hit with an immediate wave of regret that he didn’t come sooner.

His brother has fared worse than he expected.

Loki doesn’t say anything of the sort, of course. He acknowledges Thor with a tight greeting and his side of the conversation consists mostly of glares. But Thor can tell that he isn’t well. He’s thinner than Thor has ever seen him, for one thing, and there’s a certain tension in his shoulders that doesn’t leave the whole time he and Thor are speaking.

What’s more, he doesn’t stand once throughout the entire conversation, not even when Thor enters the cell. Perhaps it’s something that only Thor would notice, but over the years, whenever they engaged other forces, be it diplomatic embassies or enraged monsters, Loki has always liked to face them on his feet. Years of taunts about the nature of his fighting style, about Loki not being a _true warrior_ , took their toll.

“The work on Asgard is almost complete,” Thor informs him.

“I’m ecstatic.”

A pang shoots through Thor’s chest. He tries to brush it off. Loki has no reason to care about the welfare of Asgard, he tries to remind himself.

(Except that he has spent thousands of years fighting for Asgard, representing Asgard as its prince, and Thor does not understand how he can have severed those loyalties so quickly.)

“You wanted to rule once, did you not?” It slips out before Thor can stop it, and Loki’s gaze flickers over to him, razor-sharp. “Do you no longer care about the kingdom at all?”

“If you came to discuss the past, Thor, you might want to take a seat. That will be a long conversation, and I’ll be long dead by the time it’s done.”

The casual way in which he says it makes Thor’s stomach lurch. “Don’t say such things, brother.”

“Why not? You say Asgard is almost recovered. Odin is probably sharpening his axe as we speak.” Loki leans back, and a thin ribbon of blue dances around his fingers, rippling with energy. “Why else did you think he kept me alive throughout the rebuilding period? Magic keeps those walls upright more than mortar, you know.”

His trick only lingers for a moment before melting away into the air, probably suppressed by the spellwork binding the cell. Thor has a spark of _seidr_ himself, to be able to wield Mjolnir, and although he never pursued the study, he can feel the uncomfortable pressure of the spells suppressing Loki’s magic each time he crosses into the cell.

He wonders idly, in the back of his mind, whether every cell is prepared with such an extensive network of suppressors, for such complicated magic.

But then he shakes himself, remembering that he does not have time to waste on such meaningless thoughts.

“Loki,” he says. “I want to know how you’re faring. Are you being treated well? Is there anything you need?”

Thor knows he sounds like an old fretting maid, and he fully expects a cutting response. Still, he’d rather ask, and have Loki make a mockery of him, than let Loki exist under the impression that he is utterly alone in Asgard.

A curious frown crosses Loki’s face.

“Strange. You were never so concerned for my welfare when I was in my old cell.”

Thor isn’t sure if it’s guilt that flashes through him; he isn’t sure if he has anything to feel guilty about. After Midgard, Thor had every right not to want to see Loki. What he’d done on the human realm was barbaric, and what he attempted to do to before that, to Jotunheim, to _Thor_ , was still such a raw wound. Thor hadn’t wanted to see this imposter, this mad, tyrannical monster, wearing his brother’s face. He’d all but resigned himself to the fact that his brother was dead, that he had died in the fall.

After Frigga’s death, though, when Loki had accompanied him to Svartelfheim, Thor had seen something that he had recognised in Loki. He was colder and far crueller than he had been before, but he was hurting as much as Thor over their mother’s death. And Thor thought he’d seen a sliver of his brother, through that window of pain.

Now, he doesn’t know what to make of the man in front of him.

“You’ve never resigned yourself to death like this before,” Thor quips.

And isn’t it true? He’s been in some hopeless situations with Loki, and although his brother might be a pessimist by nature, always quick to point out the likelihood of failure and imminent death, that has never stopped him from trying, regardless, to find a way out.

For a moment, Loki stares at him, and Thor thinks he’s on the verge of saying something important. But then the defences come down over his eyes.

“I’m merely being realistic about my chances,” he shoots back. “Odin’s mind is made up. There isn’t a force in the universe that could match his stubbornness.”

But Thor shakes his head.

“Don’t be so morbid, brother. I’m not letting you die.” A grin quirks at his lips. “Will you put your faith in _my_ stubbornness, if nothing else?”

Loki doesn’t quite smile, but Thor thinks he sees something in his demeanour soften.

“If nothing else,” he mutters.

Thor counts it as a win.

 

***

 

“ _Tomorrow?_ ”

Odin, striding through the great hall on his way to greet a pair of ambassadors, is oblivious to Thor’s distress. “Yes, I think tomorrow will suffice. Did you have another engagement?”

“I…”

Thor struggles to bring his swirling thoughts into some semblance of order. He thought there would be time to talk to his father properly, before the trial. Not to put together a defence, exactly; there’s no defending what Loki has done, and certainly no excusing. But still, he thought there would be time to actually discuss the events, to put them into a wider perspective, to remind Odin of things he seems to have forgotten. He didn’t plan on Odin convening the trial for the very next day after Thor reminded him of it.

“No, not exactly, but—”

“Good. It’s set then.”

Thor chews on his lip. “Who will sit on the jury, at such short notice?”

Odin pauses, hand on the door handle, and seems to consider for a second. “The council members will suffice,” he decides.

Thor’s heart sinks.

On one hand, those men know Loki. Some of them watched as he grew into Asgard’s prince, grew old enough to sit on committees himself; they worked alongside him, advising him and taking his advice.

But those are also Odin’s men, first and foremost. They wouldn’t dare pick a verdict that might displease the king. Thor knows that something is deeply wrong, when he dreads the hand of his own father in a matter. But he cannot help but wish that this has been arranged differently.

“Father… are you sure this is for the best?”

Odin turns, and surveys him coolly. “Every decision I make is in the best interests of Asgard. I would urge you, Thor, to remember that.”

And then he’s gone, slamming the door shut in Thor’s face.

The development gnaws away at Thor for the rest of the day, turning his insides into a twisting mess of nerves. But Loki hardly bats an eyelash at the news, merely acknowledging it with a nod and spectating silently as Thor works himself into a tangle of worry.

“How can you be so calm about this?” Thor exclaims eventually, his frustrations bursting out. “Odin is treating your trial like an afterthought.”

“Because that’s what it _is_ ,” says Loki, folding his arms and leaning back against the wall of his cell. His eyes dip shut, and he lets out a sigh. “Don’t you think Odin has more important things to do with his time than waste his thoughts on me? He’d probably forgotten I was even here until you mentioned me.”

Fresh fear, with a coating of guilt, shoots through Thor.

“Don’t say such things, brother…” he finds himself saying once again.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Loki’s eyes snap open, and for the first time since he’s been brought here, Thor sees a flicker of his brother’s old defiance. His patience seems to have come to an end. “Take a look around you. You’re the only one who cares about this blasted _trial_. Do you think I’ve had any other visitors? Asgard has long forgotten about me. After tomorrow, I can be erased from the history books for good.”

Thor shakes his head adamantly, even as a sinking feeling in his chest tells him that Loki is right.

Still, there’s still one thing that doesn’t fit.

“Even if you’re right,” he says, “I don’t understand how you can just sit there and accept this.”

Loki looks up at him with tired eyes, and once again Thor gets the impression, for a split second, that Loki is on the brink of telling him something. But then he lets out another sigh, and lets his head fall back against the hard cell wall.

“And I don’t understand why you _care_. Have you forgotten that I tried to steal your throne? That I tried to kill all your little friends?”

Thor’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t know what use it would be for Loki to provoke his only ally, but it’s certainly working.

“Of course I haven’t,” he says roughly. _But equally_ , he thinks _, I haven’t forgotten about the thousands of years we spent together, before that. They cannot be cancelled out._

Whatever Loki deserves, even if the sentence _should_ be harsh, it’s more than a rushed farce of a trial and a perfunctory execution.

And Thor wants to understand why Loki, who once wished to command the attention of all the stars in the sky, would be happy with that fate as the ending to his story.

 

***

 

The trial can be summed up as the shortest nightmare that Thor has ever experienced. As soon as he sets foot in the high courtroom, dread creeps into his gut, and his instincts are quickly proved right.

Fallen as he might be, Loki’s trial has still attracted a considerable audience, who fill the stalls on either side, muttering and pointing when he is led in, and holding their breath in tense silence as the trial begins. Loki is brought before them in chains, flagged by what looks like a small army. Not that he behaves in such a way to warrant such a guard: Thor has never seen Loki so compliant as when he’s brought before the courtroom. Whenever they were captured in the past, Thor always counted on Loki to provide some amusement with how much he could disrespect their captors through his demeanour alone. Now, however, Loki holds himself like a prisoner, not even retaliating when one of his guards shoves him far too hard into the cage in the centre of the room.

The councilmen’s eyes seem to be on Odin more than the prisoner in question. There’s a distinct air of nervousness among the jury, and a mechanical aspect to the voice of the speaker as he begins his address.

“Loki Laufeyson. You have been brought here today to stand trial for your crimes against the realms of Asgard, Midgard, and Jotunheim. Your crimes are both extensive and heinous. Although imprisonment was initially judged to be an adequate punishment, in light of recent events, Odin Allfather has recanted his previous judgement and ordered a full trial, in which your fate will be decided by a jury.”

Loki doesn’t even look at the man. His eyes are solely fixed upon Odin, where he sits in his throne, and his face is unreadable, at least to Thor. Thor can tell that something complex is going on in his head, it’s there in the slight strain of his brow, the tightness of his lips, but it’s hidden behind a stony mask.

Thor thinks that at least some of the whispering in the stands is about how bad Loki looks. Against the backdrop of Asgard’s radiant halls, he does look painfully out of place, with his sickly, waifish frame, and his gaunt face. He’s so pale that Thor imagines there’s a twinge of blue to his skin. He catches at least one mutter about how _The prince certainly doesn’t look like he used to._

“The accusations stand as follows,” the speaker begins. “High treason. Attempted regicide. Attempted murder of the next in line to the throne. Attempted genocide against the people of Jotunheim. Acts of tyranny and various foul war crimes against the peaceful people of Midgard.”

So it’s not exactly a positive start.

“Before the evidence is examined, the court asks, how do you plead to these charges?”

Loki’s gaze hasn’t shifted from Odin. Thor wasn’t there for Loki’s first trial, but he’s been told that he was arrogant, insolent, defending his supposed birthright and laying the blame for his actions wholly at Odin’s feet.

Now, however, Loki only gazes for a long moment into his father’s eyes, before confessing to it all.

“Guilty.”

Thor’s heart twists.

The mutterings of the spectators turn into open shouts of outrage. But Odin only has to raise a single gilded hand for silence to fall upon the courtroom. Thor doesn’t know if he does it through magic or authority alone.

“Loki Laufeyson—” ( _Do they have to use that name?_ Thor thinks to himself. Loki is Odin’s son, Frigga’s son, they are standing here today _because_ of that relation) “— You have proven yourself capable of some of the most unforgiveable deeds ever to be tried within this courtroom.” There are a few “hear hears” from the stalls. Thor wishes they would all just shut up. “We have all seen the misery and the suffering that your actions have wrought. There are some… some that would overlook the gravity of your crimes, in light of the fact that I once considered you a son.” Odin rises to his feet, a sight to make the whole room hold its breath. “But justice _will be done_. If anyone’s crimes are deserving of death, they are yours.”

The uproar from the room is so great that Thor has to wrench himself away from the stands, stumbling through the bodies. Everywhere he turns, he sees faces twisted in hatred, crying for Loki’s head.

“You will be executed tomorrow at first light. Take him away.”

As the guards begin hauling Loki away, the warrior’s urge to act, to strike, to lash out in defence of his own, has never been stronger. Thor’s hand tightens around Mjolnir by pure instinct, and it takes every scrap of common sense that his mother drilled into his head to hold back.

He manages to make it to his quarters before his anger gets the better of him, and the nearest wall suffers the consequences. Thor only ends up coughing in the dust of the brickwork, and flings his hammer away, feeling a flicker of shame that he’s used it for such a task.

He paces the room, running a hand through his hair, and the shadows of the room gradually shift across the floor. Beyond the window, the sun wavers as it dips below the horizon. As Thor watches the sunset, panic begins to well up inside him.

The next time he sees that sun, Loki will be dead.

How had everything gone so wrong, so quickly?

It takes him by surprise when the door opens. Servants usually have the sense to avoid him after hearing things break in his quarters.

But Sif is no servant.

Thor opens his mouth to tell her that it’s not wise to be around him right now, but before he can get a word in, she strides up to him and wraps her arms around him. Thor is shocked into silence by the warmth of her arms, the soft, fragrant smell of her hair pressing against him. Sif has _never_ embraced him – or any other warrior – in such a fashion, for as long as he known her.

“Thor,” she says when she lets go. “I’m sorry.”

She is, he can tell. But he can also tell that her pity is for him, not the person who’s going to die tomorrow.

He pulls away from her, hard.

“This isn’t right. This isn’t _just_. How can Odin be _doing_ this?”

He sees Sif hesitate, then look down. Anger flares up again within him.

“You can’t agree with this, Sif.”

“It’s not my place to decide such a thing,” she says. “I came because I was worried about how you might take the verdict.”

Thor stares at her with incredulity. He knew that she and Loki were never exactly close, but they were allies, nonetheless, for far longer than they were enemies. Surely she feels _something_ at the thought of him dead?

“This is Loki, Sif. _Loki_. How can you just stand there like he means nothing to you?”

Sif takes a step closer, reaches for his hand. “Thor,” she says, in a voice that could almost be called gentle. “I grieved for Loki long ago. He’s not the man you knew, not anymore. The things he’s done…”

She shakes her head, and disgust clouds her expression.

It’s as if a switch has clicked in Thor’s mind. Suddenly, he knows exactly what he’s going to do.

He will credit himself later on how he manages to convince Sif that he’s fine, and that he only wants to be alone. She leaves with a concerned look over her shoulder, but at least she’s gone.

Thor doesn’t stay in the room much longer himself, only to grab two cloaks from his wardrobe, and pull one over his head.

Asgard glitters by nightfall. The tall peaks of the palace wink at him as he steals through the night, as if they know his secret, and the stars beam brightly down upon the citadel. Thor takes it as a sign of encouragement. It’s quieter than he anticipated, with only a few guards and commoners lingering around the grounds, and nobody that stands in his way. Even if someone did try to stop him, though, they wouldn’t succeed. Determination has taken control of him with a fiery grip.

Muspelheim, he decides, as he makes his way across the courtyard to the cells. That's where they will go. They'll disappear somewhere in the mountains.

The same guard is on duty as the previous times Thor visited, and when he sees Thor, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. Thor skips the pleasantries this time, simply drawing back his cloak and purposefully laying a hand on Mjolnir. The guard doesn’t even try to argue. He has the sense to simply turn around, unlock the door and let Thor pass, snatching the keys from guard’s hand as he goes.

Those two guards are there again, the chess board open between them and in play despite the hour. Thor ignores them, heading straight for the cells, although he feels their eyes on his back as he goes, and he cannot help the involuntary shiver they send down his spine.

Still, as soon as he reaches the furthermost cell and shoves the key into the lock, all thoughts of everything but Loki are banished from his mind.

Loki has been lying when he entered the bunk, and he frowns somewhat blearily at the clang of the door and the sight of Thor. When he props himself upright, he looks like little more than a ghost in the thin, watery moonlight.

“Thor?” he says warily, taking in his garb, the oversized cloak, and the twin one in his hand. “What are you doing here?”

Thor holds out the cloak, and flashes him a grin. “I’m breaking you out, of course.”

Loki’s eyes widen. “Are you _mad_?” he hisses.

It’s not exactly the thanks that Thor expected, but the familiar words make him flash back to their previous escape to Svartalfheim, and a crazed laugh bubbles up in his chest. “Possibly.”

Only Loki doesn’t seem to find it amusing. Snatching the cloak from Thor’s hand, he throws it to the cell floor.

“Odin will have your _head_!” he snarls. “By the gods, Thor, how could you be so _stupid_?”

Realising that his brother is serious, Thor falters.

“Brother, I don’t think you understand, I’m getting you _out_ of here—”

“You’re doing nothing of the sort.” Loki lets out a long breath, and then drops his head to his hands. “Go home, Thor. Leave me in peace.”

Now Thor is starting to become fearful.

“ _Peace_?” he repeats disbelievingly. “Loki, they’re going to kill you! Do you not understand? They’re going to kill you _in a few hours’ time_ – and – and – how can you take this so calmly?” A thought occurs to Thor, and he jumps on it. “Is this an act?” He drops his voice, shooting a glance at the door. “Have you already planned an escape?”

It would be just like Loki, to pretend all this time, even to Thor… yes: it seems so obvious now. Loki would never lay down to die like this…

“ _Thor_.”

Something in his voice jolts Thor back to reality. His eyes flicker over to his brother—

And Thor stops.

Loki is looking at him with raw pain in his eyes. For the first time, Thor looks at his brother, truly looks at him. He looks so, so tired. His eyes are bruised with shadows, as if he hasn’t slept in weeks. And the way his shoulders are hunched like that makes him look so very breakable.

“Stop,” he says simply, softly.

Thor drops to his knees beside his brother. He doesn't care how undignified it makes him look.

“Loki, please,” he begs. “ _Talk_ to me. If you won’t come with me, then just. Tell me why, at the very least.”

Loki drags a hand across his face. “I’m tired of prisons,” he says eventually, in such a heavy voice that Thor’s breath catches. He can hear the thousands of years that Loki has lived, behind the words. “I’m not build for a cage. If this is my only path to freedom, then so be it.”

Thor feels as if his heart is being wrenched right out of his chest. And at the same time, he doesn’t understand. Loki spent less than a year imprisoned, yet he speaks like someone who has spent a lifetime in chains…

“Death isn’t freedom, Loki.”

Loki smiles, sadly. “It’s the only freedom I will ever have the chance to know. There isn’t a single spot in the nine realms beyond Odin’s reach, and our father has decided that my fate is to die.” The smile falls, leaving only weariness in its place. “I want it over with.”

Thor has to blink, hard, against the wetness in his eyes. He feels as if the walls of Asgard are coming down around him, and he can do nothing but watch.

“Is this about…” Thor’s voice trails off. Even thinking about it feel as if he’s putting pressure on a wound that’s far too raw. But he has nothing left to lose. “Is this about mother? Because she wouldn’t want this. You know she wouldn’t. She loved you, Loki.”

He sees pain flicker through Loki’s eyes before he shuts them. “No," he says firmly. "We’re not children anymore. We can’t live for Mother or Father. We have to choose our paths now… And I accept that mine has come to its end.”

There’s something so, so _sad_ in his voice, something that makes Thor hurt at the very core of his being. Norns, he just wants to be able to _do_ something.

He just wants to understand what changed, why Loki would give up like this.

Once again, that fatal day on the Bifrost plays in Thor’s mind, when Loki fell…

_Except he didn’t fall_ , whispers a voice in Thor’s ear. _He let go._

Is that his destiny? To watch his brother kill himself, twice over? To have him miraculously returned from the void, only to see him die all over again?

Rage flashes through him. Thor’s fist is driving through the plaster of the cell wall before he can stop himself, a roar of anger burning his throat. How can the norns be so _unfair_?

A thought occurs to him. Thor opens his mouth, but then closes it, thinking better of what was on its tongue. This cannot be about Loki wanting to see Frigga again. It hangs in their air between them, unsaid, that neither of them believe Loki will be sitting in the halls of Valhalla.

Suddenly, Thor feels incredibly drained. He crashes down onto the bunk beside Loki.

Loki doesn’t offer him any words of comfort. In the old days, his silver tongue would be spinning out reassurances, easing the disappointment after a battle was lost. But now, he seems to have fallen silent for good. _What happened,_ Thor thinks, _that you won’t tell me? Where did you go?_

But he says nothing, the words being pointless, knowing that Loki will not answer. Not anymore, and after tonight, never again.

 

***

 

Throughout the night, Thor swears that he will not attend the execution. But when the hour comes, he cannot bear to simply stare at the ceiling and twiddle his thumbs. He needs to be there when it happens, or he knows that the uncertainty will drive him mad; questions will plague him for the rest of his life about how this day played out.

His heart is crashing against his ribcage like never before as he makes his way down to the square, pushing past servants without a second glance. He’s acutely aware of the fact that he isn’t wearing his armour, that in this moment he doesn’t look like a prince, but he doesn’t care.

Thor doesn’t join his father on the platform overlooking the scene. He holds back, lingering at the edges, just close enough to witness what’s happening.

When he sees the firing squad, Thor’s stomach flips over. He expected an axeman, but no: Odin is giving Loki a traitor’s death. The arrowtips glisten with a sheen of magic. Thor realises that Odin has thought this over in advance, how he will kill Loki, how he will keep Loki dead… and suddenly Thor remembers that intricate pair of manacles that Odin conjured with a single wave of his hand, to bring Loki back to Midgard, and that gag, that fit so perfectly upon Loki’s face…

There are words that are being spoken, but they blur into a roar in Thor’s ears. It’s happening too quickly. The arrows are already being loaded.

“Does the Silvertongue have anything left to say?”

Loki raises his head. _Look at me_ , Thor wills him, begs him, but he does not. He only looks at Odin.

“I think everything has been said. Don’t you?”

His voice rings clear throughout the hush. And it’s just so _wrong_. This isn’t how it was meant to be. Thor is screaming inside his head. Every instinct urges him to move, to _do something_ , before it’s too late, even though he knows deep down that really, it’s already too late. It’s been _too late_ for Loki for some time.

Thor would like to say that he is brave enough to look, when the order is given. But he cannot. At the last moment he flinches, jerks his head away, and only hears the terrible sound of the arrows finding their target.

By the time he looks back, it’s over. Just like that, Loki is gone.

Odin doesn’t even wait for a moment before turning around and walking away.

 

***

 

The story pieces itself together, whisper by whisper, over the years. The full truth of it probably died with Loki, but Frigga once said that no act is ever truly done in isolation, and the ripples of Loki’s actions will be felt across the galaxy for centuries to come.

Close to a decade later, Thor is leading an effort to scourge the last of the Chitauri from the galaxy, and rumours fly about what is found aboard their ship. A cage of magic, they say, with some kind of torture mechanism, something involving fire, supposedly wrought for a prisoner with Jotun blood in his veins. And there’s the boasting of the Chitauri troops under interrogation, gleefully running their mouths about all the things they did to the prince they pulled from the darkness. All the things they made him do for them.

_I’m tired of prisons._

There are no excuses, Thor knows, dully. He is present when the Midgardian memorials are unveiled. He reads every name commemorating those who died in the attack; he listens to the testimonies of their kin. Hells, he’s hardly a stranger to torture himself. If it were him, who were twisted out of his mind, made into a pawn for someone else’s war, he wouldn’t want any excuses. And he likes to think that Loki – the man Loki was before all this, the man who Loki remains, in Thor’s mind – would have wanted the same.

There are no excuses, but there are reasons, and Thor’s heart can hurt for his brother while still condemning what he did.

And when Thor finally sits down upon the throne himself, one particular memory passes across his mind. Odin’s face, so hard, so cold, as the arrows thudded into Loki.

(It was the hardest pill to swallow, the worst of the rumours, that Odin had known everything, the whole time; that Odin had _extracted_ the information. The dark stares of those guards, who vanished the day after the execution, and the crushing bruises under Loki’s eyes, the haunted look behind them, that only got worse, each time Thor saw him… it had been right there before him, what was happening, and he had not seen it.)

As he takes his vows, Thor makes another, in the privacy of his mind. He might not be able to change the past, but he will be a different king to the last.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I always thought the biggest hurdle that Thor had to overcome was letting go of the notion that Odin was a perfect king and father. Somehow that got translated into this, I guess.


End file.
